


Perhaps, too. So, too. (The Teacher Fic with the Stupid Name)

by v0ltaire



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Mr. Way - Freeform, Teacher AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2020-03-26 17:59:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19010962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v0ltaire/pseuds/v0ltaire
Summary: In which Gerard is a grumpy student teacher who has to ride the school bus with annoying student Frank because he did an oopsie and got his car rear-ended or something, enjoy teacher fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wow two in one month!? bred almost entirely from my own frustration of taking the bus every goddamned day :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 022820: i edited this because i am adding another chapter to it, stay tuned ;)

The morning sun shone through the windows of the Way residence, making the pale walls blush. Birds and crickets chirped quietly outside and the dew on the window caught the light with a glimmer as Gerard vaulted through the kitchen to fill his mug, hair a mess and tie undone still. Mikey ambled in a moment after, his robe and slippers matching his fashionable bedhead. Gerard had barely a moment to glare as his brother snickered at him, he was running late.  _ No rest for the wicked. _

“You don’t deserve rest, it’s your own fault!”, Mikey’s voice trailed behind Gerard’s steady path toward the bus stop. Bus stop, bus stop, Gerard repeated in his mind. He hadn’t had to take the bus since he himself was in high school. Oh, _ how times don’t change _ , he grimaced, here he was back in high school— his hellscape, his nightmare —as a student teacher… Taking the goddamn bus with his prospective students.

What a way to make an impression, and all because Gabe Saporta couldn’t be damned to discourage him from calling a taxi instead of driving home. ‘All because you couldn’t be damned to call the fucking cab,’ he could mentally hear Mikey correcting. Fucking car, fucking alchohol, who cares?

The walk was a sordid ten minutes, and his footfalls hit the pavement in solid stomps as he rounded the final corner to finally find the group of children he’d been looking for. He supposed he might be grateful that admin had suggested to him that he take the school bus instead of the city bus, and by admin he was reminded of Greta Salpeter who was entirely too nice to be lumped in the counselling office at an all boys private school.

The crowd was fairly dense, and Gerard, despite his learned and groomed university faux-confidence was absolutely on the verge of shitting himself at having to sit next to someone. Not his idea of a good time.

As he approached the group of teens he made unfortunate eye contact with a one Brendon Urie from the fourth-period art class Gerard was observing. They made comically horrified expressions at the other until the bus finally arrived and Gerard was thrust out of his wallowing by the crowd pushing towards the open door. Finally he managed a grip in getting aboard and the bus driver didn’t even look at him. Gerard sent a tiny thanks to the heavens for blessing him with a youthful face and made his way down the aisle.

There were maybe 10 half-empty slots, all already occupied by at least one person so Gerard managed to fight all the way to the back for the one that looked totally empty. Only to find a short, slumped, student there who had fallen asleep. Gerard sighed, and begrudgingly sat down. As the doors closed and the bus roared back to life on the road, the kid next to him jolted awake. Hand clutched to chest, hyperventilating the kid’s wide eyes had an anxious amber sheen to them that caught Gerard for a moment. The kid noticed him after the brief panic attack and righted himself so as to not draw more attention.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” He said to Gerard sleepily, “I thought I missed my stop.”

“No worries,” Gerard replied, he was fully sympathetic to that feeling.

“I’m Frank, by the way.”, The kid continued, “You new here? Never seen you around.”

Gerard wilted slightly— While this Frank seemed perfectly nice, he really didn’t want to have to keep up awkward small talk for the next 20 minutes, but— “Uh… No, actually. I’m a student teacher. Gerard Way. I’ve been here for a couple weeks already. For my practicum, that is.”

“Oh, okay.”, said Frank, “And you're taking the school bus? That’s fuckin’ rough,” he giggled, and then shot his hand over his mouth, looking at Gerard apologetically.

“Huh?”, Gerard smirked, “Oh, that’s fine, man, I get it. I’ve definitely slipped up probably too much already. The higher-ups don’t seem to like me very much.”

Frank visibly relaxed at that and shared the humour, “Same, here. Like, I get the whole respecting authority thing. I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just the way I talk, you know?”

“Yeah,” Gerard agreed, “I almost feel more insincere when I have to filter myself, but I still… at least for this school, it makes sense. It’s just hard to remember sometimes.”He shrugged, looking down at his lap and the to-go mug in his hand. He took a sip. “Say,” Gerard added, “how long does it take to get to the school from the last stop? Do you know?”

Frank startled at that, “I have no idea, actually. I’m,” he looked up sheepishly, “I’m usually asleep the whole time.”

“Oh, okay”, Gerard nodded, “Just wondering.”

“But, I bet,” Frank drawled, and cupped a hand over his mouth as he leaned forward towards the seat in front of them. He yelled, “Hey, Shaun!”

Gerard shrank into himself, just when he thought he’d found an agreeable teenager for once, he thought foully. Some kid from several rows up turned to face them, yelling back, “The fuck do you want, Iero?”

_ Iero _ , Gerard noted,  _ why did that sound familiar? _

 Frank hollered, “How long’s it take to get to school from the last stop?”

“Forty-five minutes, you lazy bastard!” Shaun laughed as Frank flipped him off.

“No wonder you sleep the whole time,” Gerard said.

“Damn straight, uh… I can’t exactly call you Gerard, can I?”, Frank trailed off.

“Oh, I mean, you could cos I’m not an actual teacher here. Most of my students just call me by my first name, but I also answer to Mr Way.”, Gerard mused, what an ego trip that would be once he was a mister.

“Oh, cool. I like the name Gerard, it’s kinda weird. No offence.” Frank grinned, another point off the agreeable checklist. But, Gerard noticed, the kid did seem fairly genuine. He supposed that was a likeable feature, his smile wasn’t bad either. He shook his head, throwing away the thought entirely. No, no, no, bad Gerard,  _ don’t you think that about a literal teenager. _

After that they found themselves in companionable silence as Frank opted to lean back into the window and doze, and Gerard scrolled aimlessly through his phone. Upon arriving to the school, shuffling out of the bus among all the elbows and snide comments, waving Frank off to have a good day, and slumping down into a chair in the teacher’s lounge, Gerard had finally a moment to relax that morning. His mug was still full, thank god, and he downed half of it in one gulp with a satisfied sigh.

The bus ride was long, yes, but there was still about 20 minutes to kill before first period, and Gerard was only really obligated to duck into at least two Art classes a day. The private school was unlike anything else he’d experienced, the curriculum was vast and specific. The schedule was tight and uncompromising. The workload was actually somewhat manageable if not more mentally stimulating.

He’s pretty sure that most of his secondary years were spent memorizing and repeating things as opposed to critical thinking. So, it was a wonder how he managed to land the two least motivated classes in the school. And, he should know, as Arts Department Head Mr. Stump had congratulated him on exactly that. Gerard took a cautionary glance to the clock on the wall and shuddered inwardly, first and fourth.  _ First and fourth _ , he repeated the thought like a mantra as the bell rang and he bolted from the lounge to make his way down to the art room.

 First was relatively boring, the early morning giving way to an unmotivated younger class that had mastered the skill of faking being awake. Gerard could not blame them. He spent the entire period watching Ms Palmer handle the class with total apathy. He felt her pain, too. Second was a prep for her, third she assisted the creative writing teacher, whoever he was, and then it was fourth. Gerard had the good grace of being dumped answer keys and tests to grade because he really was kind of useless otherwise, in the rest of the teachers’ eyes. He’d take it with a huff and an inquiry as to where their empathy had gone.

When he arrived to class in fourth period he locked eyes with Brendon Urie again. Gerard sat down at his little back table and sighed when Brendon came bounding over.

“Hello, Mr Way.”, he said sweetly, “Why the fuck were you on the student bus this morning?”, and there it was.

“Car trouble,” Gerard said dismissively.

“Language, Urie.”, Palmer drawled.

“Yeah, yeah.”, Brendon waved off, “Are you sure it’s not because you wanted to spend more time me?”, he waggled a brow at Gerard.

“Definitely sure it’s not that.”

“Seats,” Ms Palmer announced, “I’m taking attendance and if you’re not in your assigned places I will mark you absent.”

“Harsh,” Brendon muttered under his breath. Gerard had to roll his eyes.  _ Maybe if they understood the fact that they were insufferable they’d think differently _ . But god, did he sound like his father, all ‘you don’t understand how discipline is a good thing.’ Maybe he still didn’t.

“Parker is here, and let’s see… Iero, what a surprise, absent. Jacobs?”, Ms Palmer rattled off the list and Gerard perked up at that. That’s why that was familiar. Iero hadn’t been present once since Gerard’s occupation began at the school. He wondered if there was any chance the nice kid from the bus and this one were different people. But it wasn’t a terribly common surname, Gerard’s brow furrowed. Why was he a chronic skipper? There had to be a reason.

Gerard’s hand shot up the moment Ms Palmer finished with attendance and she gave him a nod, “Mr. Way?”

“I was just wondering about the Iero kid,” Gerard said, “it’s weird I’ve never seen him since I’ve been her. I was wondering if he’s ever shown up to this class at all?”

Ms Palmer tapped a finger to her chin in thought, “Yes, actually. He was usually present for the first month of the semester and then he went and disappeared. I’ve sent word to the office about it but no one seems to be concerned about his constant absence.”

“Oh, that is very strange.”, Gerard agreed, and promptly dropped it as Ms Palmer introduced her next lecture about 20th century Pop Art.

 The bus home, Gerard waited at the back of the school with everyone, and when he spotted the back of Frank’s head he couldn’t help but tap him on the shoulder and wave with a small smile. The feeling seemed to be mutual as Frank turned around and, upon noticing Gerard grinned back and said, “Save you a seat?”

Gerard nodded. He was slowly learning the politics of the bus game. There was the crowd, and the closer one was to the front the more likely they’d be to get on first and find an empty spot. Gerard, unfortunately, was a sloth as compared to caffeine riddled bratty teenagers who quite forcefully shoved their way onto the bus with no regard for whose face their elbow landed in. Gerard was reminded of the show that last weekend and smiled to himself wearily, he still had some tender spots from the pit.

He sat next to Frank when they made eye contact and settled his bag on his lap, knee jutting out slightly into the aisle as to allow them a comfortable distance. Once the doors closed and the bus sighed in preparation to begin moving Gerard let his head fall back on the seat and made a great huff of his own.

“Long day, Mr Way?”, Frank asked with a smirk, god he really had to stop letting students think they were friends.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”, Gerard said.

Frank seemed to back down at that, but he still asked, “Why?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just tired.”, Gerard shrugged.

“Me too,” Frank settled into the corner, much like he had that morning, apparently comfortable drifting into silence.

Gerard wouldn’t let him off that easy, though, “Are you  _ that _ Frank Iero?”

“Me?”, Frank puzzled, “Technically I’m a junior, and I would be a third if my granddad made any sense, but otherwise? Yeah, the one and only.”

“So, you’ll know what I mean when I say that you’ve been absent from a mandatory art class with Ms Palmer since practically the beginning of the year.”, Gerard said.

“What? Oh, the… fourth period?”, Frank asked. Gerard gave him a nod. Frank continued, “Yeah, I dropped that weeks ago but is my name still on the schedule?”

Gerard nodded, he wasn’t sure what to believe. Big school and lack of concern from counsellors or parents would confirm Frank’s explanation; Neglect to change the schedule and because he dropped it, why would there be concern? But he couldn’t help but wonder, “Are you telling the truth?”

Frank stared at him, looking scandalized, and then deeply offended, “I don’t lie.” he said simply.

Gerard squawked a laugh, covering his mouth at the ugly sound of it and the visible hurt on Frank’s face, a perfect stranger. Gerard was astounded at how earnest Frank sounded, as if anything was ever that simple. Frank doesn’t lie, therefore Gerard should automatically trust his word. Of course, why didn’t he think of that? Fucking teenagers.

Frank frowned, “To clarify: if I were skipping I would just tell you. I almost always spend that period in the library because I wanted a spare this semester.”

Gerard lowered the hand from his face, “Sorry.”, he said, and mostly meant it, “I didn’t mean to discredit you. I just, it seems a little off that your request wouldn’t have been filed by now. Which leads me to believe that it probably didn’t go through, and now all these absences are on your record.”

“Oh. Fuck, that’s not— oh, shit.”, Frank stared down at his lap, looking like he was calculating for the goddamn moon landing or something, “I guess I’ll have to make a counsellor appointment and uh, I’ll see you in fourth period art?”, there was that sheepish smile again.

“Yes, you will.” Gerard confirmed.  _ Let that be a lesson on effective communication _ , Gerard thought, feeling smug. What an odd kid, indeed, even by Gerard’s standards.

 His stop came by eventually, and Brendon Urie waved him off very loudly to which Gerard had to fight the urge to flip him off with herculean effort. The walk home, he figured, he might get used to for however long it took his car to get fixed. It was nice to be alone with his thoughts, reflecting the events of the day for the 10 to 15 minutes it took to get back to his shabby little shared house.

When he got home it was 4:00 o’clock already and, unsurprisingly, Mikey was already in the kitchen when Gerard had entered to drop his bag off on the dining table.

“Hello,” Gerard said with a happy sigh, he sank down into one of the chairs and leaned his head in his hand.

“Good afternoon,” Mikey replied, slamming the fridge door closed. He had two cans of coke, and plopped into a chair opposite his brother, sliding one over. “How was school?”

“Fucking fantastic,” Gerard professed, “I even met a friend, today.”

“Aw, look at you growing up. So fast, brings a tear to my eyes, breaks my heart, really—“

“Shut up,” Gerard cut him off.

Mikey laughed and opened his coke, “How long are you in impound for, again?”

“She’s not in impound, thank you very much.”, Gerard snapped, “They said times were slow so max 3 days, earlier if I’m lucky.”

“You are pretty lucky, by my observations,” Mikey said, he ruffled Gerard’s stringy hair as he stood up to browse through the rest of their cupboards. “What do you want for dinner?”

“A fucking break.”

“Did I hear spaghetti? Excellent choice!”, Mikey said to the can of chefboyardee in his hand.

The next morning Gerard managed to find his new-usual seat, except Frank didn’t wake up until they got to school. Which was both amusing as it was obnoxious since apparently, as Gerard had learned, the reason no one sat with the kid was because he was a warmth leech. Gerard had to pry him off his shoulder at least twice, and it was very embarrassing. With little sympathy he shook Frank awake by the uniform sleeve and whence ushered off the bus and in the teacher’s lounge to seek refuge he couldn’t help but smirk at the confusion on the kid’s face.

When fourth period rolled around Gerard was chronically early, already sat in his back-of-the-room-lurker station. It took until Ms Palmer was half way through attendance (having marked Iero absent again.) that Frank hurtled through the door with his bag gripped in his hand and a suspicious late note in the other. He and Ms Palmer stared at each other with great tension, breaking off only so Frank could scan the room to see no empty seats about.

“Mr Iero?”, Palmer sounded both relieved and entirely uninterested, which had very much impressed Gerard.

“Yep,” Frank said, tight lipped and awkward.

“Well, since you don’t appear to have an assigned seat I suppose you can sit where you’d like.”, Ms Palmer reasoned, “Or until we get settled you can sit at the back with Mr Way.”

“Uhm, great. Yes.”, Frank nodded, and took a chair from the stack by the door to sit opposite Gerard at his already modest desk. Gerard resisted the desire to inch discreetly away. After all, this was his fault. Class was fairly uneventful as per usual, except for the odd and often glances he and Frank would share. Then, half way through Frank very stiffly tried to inch a note across the table between them. Gerard accepted it, of course, and it read:

i TaLKeD To MY CouNSELLoR AbOuT MY ScheDULE and i never actually SenT iN the course ChAnge request soo THANKS A TON otherwise i’d be failing more than i already am :)

Gerard smiled down at the note, he supposed his off intuition had paid successfully for once. He wrote back:

You have shit handwriting, no wonder you’re failing. (You’re Welcome) 

On the morning of his third day of intending to take the bus, Gerard received a call from the front desk of his mechanic. He rejoiced in sending an email to Ms Palmer that he’d be late for first period, and Mikey dropped him off at the shop to collect his repaired baby. Mikey let him off with a stern warning about never drinking and driving ever again, you hear me?  _ Yeah, yeah. _

“I’m serious, asshole.”, Mikey sighed.

“No, I know. I’m sorry. I solemnly swear and all that,” Gerard crossed his fingers and put his other palm over his heart for emphasis.

He leapt out of Mikey’s car and rushed into the shop office, arriving at school an hour later in style. Fourth period came and went with Frank Iero suitably settled into his class once again, deciding just to keep it since he’d gone through the trouble of showing up the previous day. Gerard had felt a deserved nod of thanks from Ms Palmer who later revealed she knew it had to have been him that hunted the kid down. Brendon Urie had asked very sadly why Gerard had stopped taking the bus so suddenly. Which had caught Frank’s attention, but Gerard decided not to notice when he answered he had gotten his car repaired and that was that.

His practicum was almost to a close by the time the semester was also ending, and with that and a successful assessment he was out of there with full certification. It was a bloody blessing.

Perhaps too, in its own way, so was the bus.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, as it happened, Ms Palmer was transferring to the theatre department, and many of her colleagues jumped at the chance to replace her in art, all of them fairly experienced and professional. So, when Gerard got the call of offering, he was both overjoyed and shitting himself once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks like it's gonna be plot-y wasn't expecting that but i know where it's going roughly so if you'd like to stay tuned :x

 

The bell rang its piercing wail with a mission: to make Gerard late. He pulled into the staff parking lot almost exactly as the bloody thing screeched to let him know he was already doing a garbage job. He checked his own reflection in the rear view, he looked disheveled but at least he’d showered, grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and bolted into the academy building. He liked the familiarity of it, that he didn’t have to learn everyone’s names or the room numbers all over again. When he finally came upon the art room, his first period class was crowded around the door. 

 

He cleared his throat to get past them, and they turned to step aside, he took the keys from his coat pocket and unlocked the door. He paused for a moment in the doorway, sighing to himself, turned on the lights, and walked in. The group followed behind him, he honestly wasn’t even sure what class it was supposed to be but he supposed that didn’t matter so much. Now that the day had started, all he had to do was get through it. 

 

Gerard set his things on the desk in the front of the room, he’d been in the week before to set everything up and familiarize himself with the equipment. Amanda had told him he was welcome to bug her about anything if he had questions, he’d felt good and prepared. He still did. He looked up to the class, not focusing on any faces specifically as they chose their seats.

 

“So,” he said, “I’m Mr. Way, and I’m replacing Ms Palmer this year for visual art. Don’t worry, she’s still here, you’ll find her in your theatre classes. Some of you might remember me from last year, I was the student teacher for your first semester and I’m glad to be back.”

 

The class did not stir.

 

“Right so, let’s start with attendance and then we can go over the syllabus.” He said, and booted up the school-issued laptop, humming to himself while they waited. The room was still quiet, intimidatingly so. He said, “If you have notebooks you can start with a free sketch while I get situated up here. Uh, if you want a prompt? Mythological creatures are always fun. I like dragons, personally.”

 

The shuffling of zippers and papers filled the air, some murmuring finally perking up into conversations around the room.  _ Good _ , he smiled to himself,  _ thank you. _ Finally the laptop opened up to the desktop screen, and he gave it a second to settle before opening the browser and searching for the school’s network to log in. He pulled up first period, apparently this was advanced art, and clicked on the list. In his bag was a folder for each class with the various plans he’d worked on, adapting some of Amanda’s old pieces as well. He took out the booklet for this class and set it down on the desk, finally looking over the attendance and calling out the names one by one.

 

When he read Iero, he barely registered it, until he looked up in the direction of the voice that called present and saw his old acquaintance sitting in the back corner with a lined notebook. Gerard resisted the stupid urge to grin at him, he hadn’t known he’d be that relieved to see the kid again but there they were. He ducked his head back down to the attendance list, moving on and marking them all off. 

 

“Okay,” he sighed, and clapped his hands together to grab their attention, “This first class is going to be all about introduction so no pressure. For materials, you will all need a sketchbook, process and planning is going to be an important part of this course. As is intention with your pieces. For the rest of it, it’s somewhat self directed, in that you can chose the project you work on but you must complete all of them by the end of the year, obviously. Subject matter is unimportant, nudity or gore or anything of that nature is fine– the only conditional thing in that area is whether or not the piece can be displayed in the school. If that’s important to you, keep it PG 13, otherwise go ham. Any questions?”

 

Brendon Urie’s band raised immediately, “Can we draw porn?”

 

Gerard grimaced visibly and the class erupted in a fit of laughter, he couldn’t help smiling, “If you absolutely have to but it is not to be displayed outside this room.”

 

“Can it be gay porn?” asked Frank Iero. Another raucous display of laughter followed, some muttered “fag”s and “freak”s.

 

Gerard’s gaze shot to the back corner, his collar felt tight suddenly, “It can be whatever you want.” he said, and the room quieted down. “As long as it isn’t for the pure shock-value. My thesis for my final year of art featured a lot of blood and gore, and it was shocking to look at but I didn’t do it for a reaction. I wanted to showcase that there can be beauty in grotesque things. If there’s a purpose to you drawing porn, Brendon Urie, then you can do it. But there has to be something behind it or it isn’t art, it’s just sexy for the sake of being sexy. Anyway...” he trailed off for a moment.

 

Gerard looked down at the outline for the class and jumped onto explaining the various projects they could start with. He didn’t look at Frank Iero or Brendon Urie for the remainder of the hour. But when the bell rang for the class to end, he did ask them to stay behind a moment. Brendon seemed eager, but Frank looked reluctant as he stalked towards the desk at the front. Gerard folded his arms over the desktop and leaned forward to regard them with his best attempt at disappointment.  _ This isn’t working _ , he thought.

 

He sighed, “Just a couple things. One, it’s good to see some familiar faces.” he meant it, “Two, Brendon Urie, I’m putting a restriction on you: No more questions, unless it’s serious or one on one. Okay?”

 

Brendon nodded, “Yeah, sure, whatever. Can I go?”

 

“Scat,” Gerard waved his hand, and the kid vanished out the door. More students were pouring in for the second period, and Frank Iero looked like he was itching to go. Gerard gestured him around to the side of the desk, and lowered his voice. “Gay porn?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Just cos…” Frank scuffed his shoe on the linoleum, “A room full of sexually charged teenagers at an all boys school is a breeding ground for insecurity.”

 

“All I’m saying is that,” Gerard frowned, “I don’t know, I didn’t expect that from you of all people.” he wasn’t sure why he was bothered by it. In the grand scheme he didn’t really know the kid that well. It was like he was screaming  _ I thought you were better than that. _ But how would he know?

 

“I’m not a homophobe,” Frank said, almost too loudly, but with the same firmness to his voice he’d had the last time Gerard scolded him. On the bus. About lying. “Anyway, I’m late.” he said, “I’m going now.”

 

“Yeah.” Gerard said, feeling something he couldn’t place. He watched the back of Frank’s head bob with a determined stride across the room and out the door. Why was he so bad at talking to people? He looked up at the class, flipped through his courses and the notes, freshman for art foundations. 

 

He rolled his shoulders back, brought up the attendance, and addressed the class, “Who here knows what a paintbrush is?”

 

*

 

When he got home, Mikey was already there and Gerard was so relieved he assaulted his brother with a long, tight hug. He didn’t sniffle, and his eyes didn’t water, but he kind of wanted to.

 

Mikey stood pin straight, and adjusted his glasses, “That bad, huh?”

 

“I’m fucked,” Gerard said, and let him go, dropping his bag on the ground in the hallway as they walked towards the kitchen. He sat down at the kitchen table, while Mikey leaned against the counter, waiting for him to elaborate. 

 

“There’s this student,” he said.

 

“Fuck no.” Mikey said.

 

“No, it isn’t…” Gerard’s eyes widened, “At least, I think it isn’t.”

 

“Jesus christ.” Mikey sat down across from him. 

 

“That’s not what I was gonna say, shut up.” Gerard waved his hand, “It’s the bus kid, the one whose ass I saved last year before I graduated.”

 

“Okay, I remember.” Mikey said.

 

“And I saw him today and I called him out on something after class and I feel bad about it.” Gerard rubbed the crease between his eyebrows, “And that happened last time, too. And, I don’t know, I’m probably overthinking everything but today was fucking nervewracking.”

 

“You’re a teacher now, you’re supposed to be an asshole.” Mikey shrugged, “Why are you so worked up?”

 

“I don’t know.” Gerard said honestly. “What’s for dinner?”

 

“I’m going to Pete’s and he’s ordering pizza,” Mikey said, and looked at the stove clock, “Speaking of, I should probably get going soon.”

 

“Is it a date?” Gerard asked.

 

“You can come if you’re not busy, I just figured it being the first day and all…” Mikey said, “Be ready by 4:30 and we can take the scooter.”

 

“Cool.” 

 

Gerard slumped onto the table, and Mikey left to go upstairs. He stayed there for a moment, before slinking off and standing up, going back to the hallway to grab his shoulder bag and head to the basement. The light for the staircase had been burnt out for a month and he hadn’t changed it yet, so he leaned against the wall as he shuffled down, and kicked his laundry about. He really should clean up after himself at some point, he thought, and dumped his bag onto the bed.

  
  


At Pete’s house, his department head Patrick Stump was there and it was very weird until Patrick made a joke about dick sucking and then Gerard could relax. They talked about music, apparently they both knew Gabe Saporta and had actually missed each other at several gigs in the past. Pete was Mikey’s manager technically, and so Gerard thought it wasn’t so weird that he was hanging with coworkers outside of school. That’s part of adulthood now, he realized, and took a swig of his Diet Coke. For a brief moment, he felt somewhat outside himself, marvelling at the normalcy of his life, and the fact that he was okay with that before being pulled back into a conversation about whether or not  _ Titanic _ was better because of Kate Winslet’s tits or if it was just melodrama.

  
  


*

 

The next morning at school, Gerard was half an hour early and was surprised to find that several of his students were opting to spend their time with him before the bell. He sipped his coffee, and jotted some half hearted notes in his planner about things he ought to get around to that weekend. The laptop was already open, and he scrolled the front page of reddit for a couple minutes to read headlines. The bell itself seemed to rattle his brain, and when he looked up again, all the seats were full and it was good. He called attendance and went over what he planned to talk about during the class. 

 

“So, by the end of this all you should have enough work to compile in a portfolio of sorts. If you want to pick a theme and have it all related to that, you can. Or it can just be a compilation of various works. Last class, I mentioned that you should have a sketchbook for class specifically and I want you to use that for planning as well as writing. That can look like reflections about the piece, research you may have done, or journal entries, creative writing. I want to see that some thought is going into your production.” Gerard said, “Does anyone, at this point, not have a book to work in?”

 

Some hands raised tentatively as the students looked around to see who was responding, Gerard counted five of them, which was not bad,to be fair. He said, “Okay, uh, if you all wanna come up here for a second and we can talk about that. The rest of you, this would be a good time to start planning your first pieces.”

 

The energy of the room buzzed to life with chatter as the small group gathered around Gerard’s desk. Two of the students were planning on going after school to buy their books, and he dismissed them saying they could work with loose leaf or on other assignments they might have. Brendon Urie and Spencer Smith were friends apparently, Gerard learned, the school actually issued a lot of supplies to students and they happened to have cash on hand so he wrote them a couple of receipts and shooed them off with fancy academy sketchbooks. Frank Iero seemed sorry to be there with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes on the ground, and Gerard wasn’t quite sure what to say.

 

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

 

Frank nodded, “Yeah, it’s just that… I know it isn’t a lot of money in the long run but I can’t really spot twenty bucks for a notebook right now.”

 

“Oh,” Gerard said, “That’s- Hey, that’s not a problem, I get it. If you don’t mind that it’s slightly used, I think I have a book somewhere that I didn’t finish. You can rip out the few pages I used, I can bring it tomorrow.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Frank said, “It’s fine, I can figure it out, just, I didn’t want to make up an excuse.”

 

Gerard sighed, “It’s not a big deal. It’s a case of me telling you that I need you to have this thing in order to participate in my class and if it means me giving it to you, then I would rather that than have to wait for you to find one later on.”

 

“Right,” Frank said, “Thanks. Uh, yeah.” and he left to go sit in his seat.

 

Gerard sat back in his chair, frowning to himself, he still couldn’t place what wasn’t working for him. He knew he felt like he was being harsh, but he didn’t know why or where it was stemming from. He brushed it off, shaking his head and rose to hover around the classroom to take questions and give feedback. The rest of the class was spent talking to Spencer Smith about watercolor, and he was relieved that Brendon seemed to have a friend that had something worth saying, because Gerard did not particularly enjoy having to dodge the remarks made in between Spencer’s questions.

 

When he got home, Mikey wasn’t there, working late at the office or out with friends, Gerard didn’t really care to know. He microwaved some gross frozen dinner and grabbed a beer from the fridge, making his way to the living room. It was weird sometimes, he thought, having a three-story house between just the two of them. When mom moved out, she said it was because they never would and she was right. Gerard still lived in his childhood bedroom, and he kind of loved that, it was so Jersey it hurt, to be 28 and living at home. He decided that before he ruined his evening with reviewing itineraries that he might be social. He turned off the TV, put his half-drunk beer back in the fridge and tossed the cardboard dinner into the trash.

 

It was a thirty minute drive to the other side of town and he supposed he should have called first but when she opened the door, they hugged and that was that. She ushered him in to sit down at the table, while she was making herself something to eat, he watched her cook.

 

“So, how’s school?”

 

Gerard wanted to sigh dramatically, he said “It’s pretty good.”

 

With a spatula in her hand, and curlers in her hair, his mother turned to face him with the look of absolute certainty that he was bullshitting her, “Is it really?” she asked, “Cos I don’t think you’d come all the way out here, even if you had nothing better to do, if things were  _ pretty good.” _

 

Gerard stared down at the linoleum for a second before he gave up, “Yeah, it’s… There’s a thing that I keep thinking about.”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna switch careers again, my heart couldn’t handle it.”

 

“No,” he shook his head, “Okay. Was I ever, like, a really moody teenager?”

 

She grinned at him, her painted brows raising, “Baby, are you kidding me? You were the worst. I love you to death, you’re the sweetest, but you were more hormonal than any teenage girl I’ve ever seen and I was one.”

 

They shared a laugh, and Gerard wiped his face, he wasn’t exactly embarrassed. He said, “So there’s this student that I had when I was doing my practicum, it was at the same school I’m teaching at right now. He’s a good kid, I think, really sincere and we got along pretty well last year.”

 

“But…” she drawled.

 

“But, and I know it’s only the first week but so far I feel like I’ve been making a really lousy impression and I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much.” He let it out in one breath, like a confession. 

 

She seemed to regard him for a moment, and he waited patiently because sometimes it was like that. Mom would pause to collect her thoughts, put puzzle pieces together of traits and habits and details before she answered, and it was always an answer, even when the initial story hadn’t been a question. She said, “I think you should focus on figuring out what kind of impression you’re even trying to make. Are you trying to be laid back and approachable? Are you trying to be firm and authoritative?”

 

Gerard hummed, thinking about it while the saucepan sizzled.

 

She went on, “Are you… Are you sending mixed signals?”

 

He huffed through his nose, “No, god. Mikey said the same thing the second I brought it up and jesus fuck, the both of you.”

 

She raised her hands, “I’m just saying, if it happens to be that, you better fucking drop it right away. I can’t judge you for it, but I would if it was something you pursued. You should know better.”

 

“Ma, seriously.” he said, pleading, “I think he’s just a troubled kid, maybe there’s neglect at home or something. I think he could be lacking some sort of support, and I’m not saying that I can provide that for him or for any other student but I don’t want to seem like I’m unobservant or uncaring about their needs. You know?”

 

She nodded, “It was like that a little at the salon when I worked there. You would get people coming in for standard cuts, and then you would have girls coming to shave their heads after a breakup or a long stretch of bed-ridden depression. You’d have young men coming in with long hair to chop it off, or even normal hair to turn into some trendy fringe because of pressure to fit in. I would always do what they asked for, and I would never ask if they were sure about it. I would get them prepped, wet their hair, put the apron on, and then when I had the clippers or the scissors loaded up, a lock of hair in my hand… I would ask if they were okay. And you know what they would say?”

 

Gerard shook his head.

 

“Everytime, or almost every time, they would tell me why they were there and almost always after that I would take them back to the sitting area to look at the catalogues, and they would pick something that they actually wanted.” She said.

 

“So, you’re telling me to sponsor a field trip to a salon?”

 

“No, stupid,” she clucked, “I’m telling you not to push or be overbearing. I’m telling you to let them come to you if they need support, just be there and be attentive and be positive. Sometimes kids just need someone who isn’t expecting anything from them. Even though you are, because you’re grading them, but for everything else. Just be there.”

 

“Okay,” Gerard said, “Okay, I think I can do that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> fucking errors i’m not gonna fix so yea it’s the motherfucking title what
> 
> edit: originally the ending sentence was Perhaps too so too was the bus and i made that the title when this was just a one off but since editing that doesn't really make sense so yk *context*


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